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The Writing On the Ground

… currish yelp. Now—-so the wheel of Fortune whirls !— Your kindly love for little girls And ardour for the fine old faith Makes all that past a wisp, a wraith. You patronise our Sunday schools, Pronounce on Grammar's darkest rules, Rebuke bad taste, irreverence, Heresy, humbug, and pretence. Your tepid verses come like boons To cheer Suburban afternoons; While Asquith, were he only wise, Would bid a Board of Morals rise ; Sure no one like yourself can be Past-Master in Virginity, Reprinted by permission from “The Winged Beetle,” by Aleister Cro…